He picked up her hand, kissed it, and felt dozens of wounds heal. "You didn't have to be."
"I figured that out for myself. I like figuring things out for myself."
"Tell me about it." He smiled and no longer felt foolish being on his knees. "I like the way you figure things out for yourself. The way you handle yourself, Regan. Even when it ticks me off, I like your style."
"I like yours, too." She leaned forward and kissed him lightly. "I'm going to get something to put these in."
He reached behind him and picked up the vase she'd thrown. "How about this?"
"That'll be fine." She took it from him and rose to arrange the silk bouquet on the table. "I can't believe I actually threw it."
"It's been an eventful evening. So far."
She glanced back, smiled. "It certainly has. Would you like to stay, and see what happens next?"
"There we are, on the same wavelength again. You know, Regan, I think we've got more common ground than either one of us realized. You shoot decent pool, I like antiques." He stood, moving restlessly, picked up a china cat in suddenly nerveless fingers, then set it down again. "So, you want to get married?"
She tucked a sprig of lilacs into place. "Hmm... You asked me that before, as I remember. And never took me up on it, because I won't watch baseball."
"I mean it."
She twirled to face him, and her limp hand knocked against the table. "Excuse me?"
"Look, we haven't known each other very long." He stepped toward her, stopped cold. She was staring at him as though he'd lost his mind. He was certain he had. "But we've got something going here. I know we said it was just going to be sex, and we've just finished deciding we really like each other."
"Rafe,I can't—"
"If you'd just let me fumble through this." His tone went from quiet to testy in an instant. "I know how you are with having to weigh your options and think things through. But the least you can do is look at this from my perspective for one damn minute. It's not just sex for me, and it never was. I'm in love with you."
She stared into those sharp, angry eyes, heard the treasured phrase delivered in a furious snarl. And felt her heart swell like a rose blooming in her chest. "You're in love with me," she repeated.
It had always been easy to say the words when it didn't count—when they were just words, and not these tiny, razor-edged little pellets in his throat. "I'm in love with you," he said again. "It probably happened five minutes after I met you, maybe five minutes before. I don't know. It's never happened to me before."
"Me, either," she murmured.
He didn't hear her, didn't hear anything but the roaring in his head. "No one's ever needed me. I've never wanted anyone to need me. It gets in the way. But I want that from you. I have to ask that from you." He paused, fought to steady himself. "I don't like asking."
"I know. You don't have to." She walked to him, framed his face in her hands. "Rafe, you don't have to ask."
"If you'd give me a chance—'' he gripped her wrists "—I could make it work. We could make it work. Come on, Regan, take a risk. Live dangerously."
"Yes."
His grip on her wrists went lax. "Yes, what?"
"Why do we have such a hard time hearing each other?" she asked. "Listen up," she ordered, and kissed him firmly. "Yes, I'll marry you."
"Just like that? You're not going to think about it?"
"Nope."
"Good. Great." A little dazed, he stepped back. "We could, ah, t-take care of...it. Take care of it tomorrow. The license. Whatever. You want a ring...or something?"
"Yes, I do. Rafe, you're stuttering."
"No, I'm not." He stepped back when she stepped forward. "I just didn't expect you to take the jump so quick."
"If you're trying to change your mind, forget it. Was it the skirt?"